


idle hands, or lack thereof

by blazeofglory



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Drinking, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, M/M, you construct intricate rituals that allow you to touch the skin of other men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29183496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory
Summary: They’ve always had an easy affection towards each other—simply a part of being such good friends.
Relationships: John Bridgens/Henry "Harry" Peglar
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	idle hands, or lack thereof

“Like this,” Harry says, demonstrating once more with a length of rope as John watches with intense focus. 

When he looks up, John smiles and nods. “I think I’ve got it.” 

Harry gestures for John to give it another go, and John does—he begins the knot confidently, moving the rope with ease, but then his fingers slow as he reaches the more complex step. He finishes a knot, but when he looks back up at Harry with a chagrined smile, Harry knows John realizes he didn’t do it quite right. 

It’s a strange role reversal, being the one to teach John something. Harry’s never had to teach anyone anything; he never really considered whether he had any skills worth teaching, unlike John. John knows so many things—he’s well-read and wise, and _endlessly_ patient. Harry’s long process of learning to read would have probably driven any other teacher mad, but John only ever has patience and kind words for him. 

Even now, their lessons continue. For a while, they mostly subsisted of reading novels to each other, but now John is teaching Harry Spanish. 

_These_ lessons, though, are very new. John had offhandedly mentioned the other day that he had never mastered the knots that any good sailor should know, and Harry’s taken it upon himself to change that. John is a proper pirate, that can’t be denied—he’s been loyal to this crew for much longer than Harry’s even been at sea, and though he’s the ship’s accountant and largely handles ledgers, he can hold his own in a fight. It’s a wonder he’s been on a ship so long and not learned a proper knot! 

“Watch again,” Harry says, easily untying his knot and starting over once more. John shifts a little closer—and they are _very_ close, sitting on John’s bed in his quarters. It’s not a particularly soft bed, nor particularly large quarters, but it’s certainly more comfort and privacy than Harry’s hammock, surrounded by other men. They always have their lessons here, where they’re less likely to be interrupted. 

“You make it look easy,” John compliments, sounding rather unbothered by his inability to replicate the knot. He pats Harry’s shoulder, then leaves his hand there, and Harry can’t help the way his heart skips a beat. 

Their eyes meet, and it’s always heady to have John’s undivided attention like this. Harry’s not sure what he’s done to possibly deserve it. 

“I’m sure you’ll grasp it before I manage to learn Spanish,” Harry replies with a smile, and John smiles right back. 

“Be proud of yourself for mastering English,” John says, like he always does, as he squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Spanish will come easier, with practice. You’re a quick study, I have no doubt that you’ll be fluent in a few months’ time.” 

Harry looks back down at the rope in his lap, blushing. 

“Let’s take a break from our lessons,” John adds, drawing his hand away as he stands. He rummages through his things for a moment—and Harry uses this time to let his eyes linger on John’s strong back and muscled arms, his rolled up sleeves and the tattoos on his skin—before turning back around with a bottle of rum. 

Harry laughs in surprise and delight. “John, you spoil me.” 

“Oh, I would if I could,” John replies, and Harry doesn’t know what he means by that, but it makes him blush again. John sits next to him once more, leaning back against the curved wall of the ship, and Harry leans back as well. 

“It’s been too long since we’ve made fools of ourselves,” Harry comments as John uncorks the bottle and passes it to him, letting Harry have the first drink. When Harry takes it, their fingers brush, and it takes all his strength to pull away. He takes a long drink, and it tastes _horrible,_ but any spirits they have at sea are always disgusting, and he’s rather used to it. He passes it back to John, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I still hate rum.” 

John laughs easily and takes a drink too. “Last time you and I got drunk, we tried to act out entire scenes from _Hamlet_ by memory alone.” 

“I’ve never even seen _Hamlet_ ,” Harry laughs, taking the rum when John passes it back. 

Their “break” goes on for a while, slowly emptying the bottle as they talk and laugh and lean more and more against each other. John is pressed all along Harry’s side; warm and firm and smelling so _good_. Harry isn’t even sure what John is talking about anymore, focused as he is on nuzzling his face into John’s shoulder and breathing his scent in deep. 

Harry is distantly aware that he’ll be mortified at his own behavior when he sobers up, but he can’t resist it. John doesn’t seem to mind either; at some point, his hand has come to rest on Harry’s knee. 

They’ve always had an easy affection towards each other—simply a part of being such good friends. 

“John,” Harry says after a while, words muffled into John’s shirt before he shifts a little, pulling away just enough to sit up properly. John smiles at him, his gaze and smile softened by drink, and Harry smiles back. “Yes. John. We should continue our lesson.” 

John chuckles, then sets the rum aside and picks up his length of rope. He gives Harry a mischievous look. “Shall I give it another go?” 

“I have full belief in you,” Harry replies, grinning broadly. 

As he watches, John begins again—he almost has it, before faltering right at the end. But instead of letting John finish off the incorrect knot, Harry reaches over, his hands covering John’s. Harry’s hands are much rougher, and John’s hands much larger. 

“Like this,” Harry says softly, guiding John’s fingers into completing the final loop. 

He can feel John looking at him, but Harry stays focused on their hands. 

The air feels strangely charged as they sit in quiet, until John requests quietly, “Show me again?” 

Together, they untie the knot and begin again. It’s slower going than when Harry does it alone, but steady work, as Harry leads John’s fingers, and John lets himself be led. The finished knot is perfect. 

Harry’s very aware of his racing heart, and John’s warm thigh pressed against his, and John’s strong hands in his, and—and how very intimate this feels. Harry is closer to John than he is to anyone else on this ship—in the world at large—but it’s never… they’ve never… 

Harry has felt this intimacy between them before, but only fleetingly—when they seek each other out and hug tightly after every battle fought and won, when John fixes errant strands of Harry’s hair, and… when they drink rum together. Perhaps these feelings are only meant to exist in the dark like this, when they are rum-soaked and alone. Perhaps these thoughts should never leave Harry’s mind. 

But John’s hands are so warm in his own, and John is not pulling away. John shifts his fingers until—until it is like they’re holding hands. Harry squeezes tightly and John squeezes back. 

“Are you drunk?” Harry asks quietly. 

“Aye,” John answers honestly. “And so are you.” 

“John…” Harry starts, then hesitates, biting his lip. 

“Harry,” John whispers back. “Look at me.” 

Slowly, Harry looks up again, and their eyes meet in the dim light. John is smiling. He is _beautiful._

“I mastered the knot over an hour ago,” John confesses, looking charmingly abashed. “I simply did not want you to leave yet.” 

“Oh.” Harry swallows thickly. His palms are sweaty against John’s, and his heart may beat right out of his chest. Emboldened by the rum, Harry admits, “John, I… I don’t care that much about learning Spanish.” 

John laughs softly. “I think we may be able to think of other ways to spend our time together.” 

Harry blushes. “Are you going to kiss me?” 

“Aye,” John answers softly. “If you’ll allow it.” 

Harry’s eyes dart down to John’s lips, and then his eyes slip shut as he leans in, heart in his throat, and—John meets him in the middle, his lips dry and gentle as he kisses Harry softly, just a featherlight press of lips. 

Harry presses closer, and John gets the message; he kisses Harry harder, licking into Harry’s mouth. Harry doesn’t even notice John pulling his hands from Harry’s grip until John suddenly has one hand on Harry’s waist and another in his hair, and it’s all too easy for Harry to move closer, as close as he can, straddling John’s lap with ease. He cups John’s face in his hand as they kiss—he worries for a moment that his rough hands won’t be welcome on John’s handsome face, so he keeps his hands low, stroking John’s neat beard. 

It’s a long, long moment before they part, breathing hard. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Harry breathes out, flushed in both pleasure and embarrassment at the confession. 

John only smiles, still running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I have yearned for you for longer than I can say. I should not have doubted myself that you wanted me back.” 

Harry grins. “John, you’ve got rather nice shoulders, but I must admit, I want your front much more than I want your back.” 

John laughs, and Harry laughs with him, and then they both lean in and their mouths meet once more. 

The length of rope still in John’s lap falls to the floor, and neither of them notice. 


End file.
